God's Own Superweapon
by Trinial
Summary: Oneshot. A quick vignette detailing Johnson's escape from the first Halo ring aboard a Pelican.


"_Men, we led those dumb bugs out to the middle of nowhere to keep 'em from getting their filthy claws on Earth. But, we stumbled onto something they're so hot for, that they're scrambling over each other to get it. Now I don't care if it's God's own anti-son-of-a-bitch machine or a giant hula-hoop; We're not gonna let them have it! What we will let them have is a belly full of lead and a pool of their own blood to drown in! Am I right Marines?!_"

—Sergeant Johnson ('Pillar of Autumn' level on Legendary) (Source: the Halo Wiki)

"Let's move it, sir!"

The shout came from a stalwart, rugged-looking black marine standing on the loading deck of a hovering pelican dropship. As soon as the words left his mouth, he fired a burst from his standard-issue MA5B assault rifle, cutting down yet another of the strange, horridly familiar forms of the zombie-like aliens surrounding the craft.

Sergeant Major Avery J. Johnson spared another look at the pair running towards him. Roughly twenty six meters from the dropship were two exhausted young men. One was a naval officer, dressed in the black uniform of the Office of Naval Intelligence, his collar brightly displaying the double silver bars of a navy lieutenant. The other was a young marine ODST, currently trying to run backwards while providing cover fire for the fleeing officer. Ten meters behind the two men were no fewer than thirty of the twisted, deformed creatures that had forced them into this course of action.

The officer stumbled, his physical condition not quite up to the task of functioning in a non-stop running gun battle. Seeing this, the young marine quickly slung his weapon and threw one of the lieutenant's arms over his shoulder, and proceeded to half-carry, half-drag the exhausted officer the remaining few meters to the dropship with the ease of a well-trained, utterly terrified combat marine fleeing for his life.

Johnson continued firing at their pursuers, the rounds passing not ten inches above the marine's head. The Sergeant Major's stunningly accurate fire ripped into torsos and severed limbs and heads, but the things just kept coming. The zombie-things considered the loss of a head or arm to be irrelevant, and the loss of a leg was a mere inconvenience. Then, to add to Johnson's ire and frustration, when he did manage to cause enough damage to one that it actually died, one of the little squid-like creatures would come along and burrow into the corpse's chest. The thing would then get up again as if nothing had happened.

Finally, the two men made it to the dropship, and Johnson extended a hand to help them up, even as his other hand continued to lay down a barrage of covering fire. The young marine pushed the lieutenant up, and then scrambled up the ramp himself, turning and drawing his weapon as soon as his backside hit the deck.

"Punch it! Go! Go! Go!" the marine yelled as he added his fire to Johnson's. The aliens were only a few meters away now.

Johnson grabbed hold of the overhead security webbing as the pelican lurched and began to ascend. Both marines continued to fire randomly into the gathering crowd below until one made an astounding fifteen meter leap towards the still-open deck of the dropship. Then its body exploded under the withering fire of two assault rifles.

Once they were clear of the immediate threat, Johnson keyed the Pelican's rear hatch closed and moved forward to the cockpit.

"Where to, Sergeant Major?" the pilot asked as he entered the tiny cabin.

"Space," Johnson replied gruffly. "I wouldn't put it past those fugly bastards to learn to fly, but let's see how they like sucking on vacuum to get to us." With that, he moved aft again.

Once there, his attention immediately went to the Lieutenant, who was still lying on the floor, recovering from the run. Next, he looked to the Marine.

"You were with Sergeant Mason's squad?" Johnson asked, referring to the Marine unit he had contacted roughly thirty minutes ago.

"Corporal Locklear, Sergeant Major," the man said, identifying himself. "We picked up Lieutenant Haverson there about five minutes after we got your waypoint. Sergeant Mason bought it two minutes later, with the rest of the squad getting picked off one by one on the way."

Johnson grunted mournfully, then nodded and moved to the Lieutenant.

"Sir, we're headed for space," he said, "we'll be in the clear in a few minutes. I doubt anyone up there has enough time to deal with little old us; at least for the moment. We should have at least a few minutes to collect ourselves and plan our next move."

Lieutenant Haverson nodded, finally getting his breathing under control. Accepting Johnson's offered hand, he levered himself to his feet and moved to the cockpit.

Looking at the pilot, he said, "Once we're at minimum safe distance, move us out to ten thousand kilometers, then come about and start scanning all UNSC channels. I want to know who's left out here."

"Aye, aye, sir," the pilot replied.

It took roughly half an hour for the small Marine craft to travel the specified distance, though no one seemed to notice. At first, all four were still too keyed up to rest or focus on anything but survival, and as time passed and their bodies calmed down they became interested in finding other UNSC forces. All four were crammed into the dropship's tiny cockpit, all trying to do their part to scan for friendly signatures and keep an eye out for hostiles, be they Covenant or the strange aliens that kept ambushing them.

Upon reaching the specified distance, the pilot, Petty Officer Second Class Polaski, halted their forward acceleration, then turned the dropship around to once again face the Ring, bringing to bear the majority of the onboard sensor equipment.

After a few minutes of fruitless searching, she said, "Sirs, I think I've located the _Pillar of Autumn_, but something's wrong."

"What is it?" Haverson asked.

"Well, sir," she replied, "the signature matches the _Autumn's _fusion reactors, but it's way above normal! Approaching critical levels!"

"Where?" Haverson asked, his voice taking an edge.

"I can't say for sure, sir. The only reason I can detect it at all at this distance is because the output's so far above normal."

"Move us closer," Haverson ordered, "then…"

"Sir!" Locklear interrupted, pointing to a section of the Ring.

The other three in the cockpit followed the Corporal's outstretched finger, immediately seeing what had caught the marine's attention. The unmistakable flash of a nuclear detonation appeared on the near side of the Ring, blasting completely through the giant structure. The cockpit windows polarized as the visible EM radiation encountered the reactant materials, saving the occupants' eyes, and they watched as the Ring's own rotation caused another area to rip apart, sending a whole section careening across space to slam into the opposite side, ensuring the Ring's total destruction.

The flash, combined with the sickly beauty of the Ring's destruction, gave Locklear an odd sense of dé já vu, and a brief moment of clairvoyance, in which he understood the Ring's true purpose.

"Sergeant Major," he breathed, "I think you were right. That really _was_ God's own Anti-Son-of-a-Bitch Machine."

Johnson scowled briefly.

"I would have preferred the giant hula hoop," he said.


End file.
